A few weeks ago, I held my breath, said a little prayer to the writing gods, and submitted a chapter to the So You Think You Can Write contest at Harlequin.
I knew it was good. Knew it in my bones. But I never, not for a minute, expected anything to come of it.
Which isn’t to say I didn’t worry about it. On the contrary, I checked for new comments on my entry every day. Stalked the hashtag on Twitter. Read other entries in all my spare minutes and despaired at their awesomeness.
But I didn’t think there was a chance in hell I’d make the first cut.
Then this arrived in my inbox.
I made it through round one.
The next words out of my mouth were, “Oh wow. Oh crap. Oh my God…” Really. They were. Ask my coworkers.
My hands shook. My stomach roiled. My brain spun.
Real editors had read my work and liked it enough to want to see more. I am still trying to wrap my brain around that nugget of awesomeness (see also: mentally SQUEEEEing).
I am fully aware of how many thousands of writers would give their lifeblood to have the opportunity that’s now in front of me. So I’m going to make the most of it.
Becky and Mark aren’t quite ready for prime time yet. But by Sunday at 11:59 p.m.? They damn well will be. Even if it means I have to consume 1,000 gallons of coffee and Red Bull between now and then.
Wish me luck.